1 post tagged “poetry”

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{we are here to drink beer}

I have had this on my live journal for a while now.  I love it so I am going to post it here.


"For those who believe in God, most of the big questions are answered. 
But for those of us who can't readily accept the God formula, the big answers don't remain stone-written. 
We adjust to new conditions and discoveries. 
We are pliable. 
Love need not be a command or faith a dictum. 
I am my own God. 
We are here to unlearn the teachings of the church, state, and our educational system. 
We are here to drink beer. 
We are here to kill war. 
We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us." ~ Charles Bukowski

Also I stumbled across something I wrote a while ago.  I like it so I am going to post it here as well.  Call it a self pimp.  It is a fanfiction poem.  It is from the buffyverse.  Spike's point of view.  At the point this would be pertinent he has been chipped by a secret government program and thus can't attack humans anymore without a stabbing pain in his head.  I kinda see it as a inner monologue sort of thing.  I always imagined that his inner monologue has much more of his denied poet that he would have liked anyone to know.  In my mind this takes place after some random conversation with the scoobies about why someone would want be a vamp or some such thing.  Enjoy.

Departure

by Kristispyder (or rather the Spike living in my head)

 

They haven’t figured it out.

It is right in front of their faces and they can’t seem to

  understand the need.

The ecstasy that never seems to be fulfilled.

The awesome revelation that comes over you the moment

  your mouth fills with the liquid light.

And every time it is new.

 

If they knew they would be here.

They would be lining up to trade the pain for the aching need

  that never really gets sated.

And still, it is so much better than what they have now.

 

Letting the slow spiral fall about you.

Losing yourself in the crimson.

The intoxication of the color.

Falling so much farther than the floor.

Knowing that it will have to end, and even in that there

  is celebration.

It means this need - this delicious emptiness - will again

  need to be filled.

And again and again and again.

 

It’s smelling the fear.

Dying to see that naked gleam in the eyes of the one you

  have happened on in the night.

Or perhaps one that you have interwoven into your nights

  for days or weeks or months.

Knowing you will soon know them more intimately

  than any lover could have dared.

And for one brief moment they will know this bliss

  and even after they have loosed this moral coil

  they will long for that moment again.

And again and again and again.

 

They are fools

I know, because I have been there

On that precipice.

Between heaven and hell.

Between light and dark.

Knowing that blood is the Goddess and I will again

  worship her with abandon.

Reveling in the endless flow.

The delicious agony of the hunt and the

  unashamed anointment that follows.

 

I can still feel it falling into me.

Feel the pulse of the darkness

In my arms.

In my legs.

In my cock.

 

It’s departure is deafening.

 

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